


Let Me In

by ellenoruschka



Category: Romeo & Juliet (2013), Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet (1968), Romeo e Giulietta - Ama e Cambia il Mondo, Romeo et Juliette - Presgurvic
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Escalus doesn't deserve this, Family Drama, Gen, Halloween Challenge, I am so sorry for what i keep doing to you, I love you guys, I swear I do, SPOOKY SCARY SCALIGERS, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, This is supposed to be scary, my beloved Scaliger family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-01 02:34:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21337876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellenoruschka/pseuds/ellenoruschka
Summary: The city is fast asleep, and it knows not that its Prince's eyes are open. It hears not the sounds of the child crying, it cares not for the quiet steps in the empty corridor of the royal palazzo.But the Prince does.And the voice in the corridor is painfully familiar to him.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	1. Let Me In

Yet again Bartolomeo della Scala wakes up to the sound of a child crying. Yet again he throws the covers aside, frowning, and lights a candle, and pulls open the heavy curtains… only to see — yet again — that the sky is pitch black. There is no moon, there are no stars: every time, it is in the darkest night of the month that the child cries… every time, the sound of crying gets a bit closer.

This night is no different: all of Verona is dark, shrouded in the thick, heavy shadows of a gloomy November night. The city is fast asleep, and it knows not that its Prince's eyes are open. It hears not the sounds of the child crying, it cares not for the quiet steps in the empty corridor of the royal palazzo.

But the Prince does.

And the voice in the corridor is painfully familiar to him.

"Uncle, I am scared," Mercutio, almost seven years old, calls timidly from behind the closed door. "Uncle? Uncle, are you awake?"

Bartolomeo is silent, and the knuckles of his fingers that grip the windowsill are almost white.

"Uncle?" Mercutio's voice is full of tears. "I had a nightmare. I am scared. Let me in, uncle."

Bartolomeo turns around very slowly, biting down on his lower lip; the golden candlelight flickers across his graying hair and furrowed brow, turning his proud face into a scary mask.

"Let me in, uncle!" the tiny voice implores, tearful and yet insistent. "I am so scared…"

…Mercutio had never needed permission to enter Escalus's rooms.

"Go away," the Prince forces out. "I have no need of you."

"But I am so scared," repeats the voice behind the door. "Tell me a story, uncle?"

"Why do you keep coming?" Bartolomeo's shadow comes to life, dashing across the room like a frightened bird as he takes an involuntary step towards the door. "I will not let you in."

"I am scared, uncle," the same words come yet again, like there are no other words left in the whole world. "Will you tell me a story?"

"Leave."

"Why do you not want to let me in, uncle?" Mercutio is no longer crying; on the contrary, his voice is full of barely contained mischief, and the room grows strangely cold. "I am your nephew, am I not? Will you not let your nephew in?"

Escalus drags a shaking hand over his face, desperately trying to ignore the tremor, and wraps his brocade robe tighter around his body.

"Leave, whoever you are," his voice is as calm and confident as ever; but deep down, the Prince of Verona knows all too well — this guest will not be easy to get rid of.

"Am I unwelcome here, uncle?" the child behind the door grows sad. "I thought you loved me…"

Bartolomeo sighs shakily. God only knows how much he would have loved to say — of course I do, my child, Mercutio, my dearest child, come in, I love you, I would do whatever you want, anything…

…if only it could bring you back to life.

For Mercutio is dead, dead and buried, and it has been ten long years since the day of his death, and he was no child when he died, but almost a grown man; and whatever is waiting now in the corridor is not Mercutio, it could never be him…

"Am I unwelcome, uncle?" the voice asks again, and the Prince can almost hear it giggling. "Then I will go to Valentine."

"No!" Escalus dashes forward, presses his hand to the door, not even thinking of what he is doing. "Don't you dare!"

"But I am all alone, and I am so scared…" the child is now crying again. "And my brother loves me, he will let me in. He loves me, and you don't…"

Bartolomeo digs his nails into the skin of his palms, desperately trying to rein in the fear that threatens to overcome him. No. No, not Valentine, not his only remaining nephew. Whatever this thing is, it must never get to Valentine.

No matter what the cost.

"Uncle?"

No matter...

The Prince exhales slowly.

And opens the door.


	2. Turn Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At first, the empty hallway outside the bedroom, lit by a single torch, seems the same as always.
> 
> And then the whispers come.

At first, the empty hallway outside the bedroom, lit by a single torch, seems the same as always.

And then the whispers come.

_...human, human, human, human, human..._

_...alive, alive, alive, alive, alive…_

_...now he is ours, ours, ours, ours, ours..._

_...now he will play with us, with us, with us..._

_...come here, here, here, here, here..._

These otherworldly, barely discernible whispers rustle all around him, echoing in his head, disorienting him, making it impossible to tell neither who is whispering nor how many there are of them, not even where they are... The empty corridor is no longer empty, and there are creepy giggles in the dark corners here and there, as if the darkness itself were cackling gleefully.

Bartolomeo‘s skin crawls.

“Let's play hide-and-seek, uncle dear,” not-his-nephew chants happily behind him, and the Prince can feel his unnaturally cold breath at the back of his neck. “You haven't played with me for so long...”

And there it is again, that giggle, almost childish, almost playful, if not for the strangely frightening undertone no living being should be capable of producing.

“So... who shall hide and who shall seek?” Bartolomeo asks, struggling to control his voice. It's too cold in the corridor, and his brocade robe is not nearly warm enough; but the Prince still instinctively hugs the embroidered fabric tighter to his frame, as if trying to shield himself from the oncoming darkness.

_...you, you, you, you, you..._

_...for us, for us, for us, for us, for us..._

“You shall look for me, of course,” laughs the almost-Mercutio, the not-quite-Mercutio. “I have already found you, and you can never hide from me again. It’s your turn now, uncle! But I won't hide from you. I will chase you. Come on, you play hide-and-seek with me, and I will play catch with you, how’s that?”

The creature chatters brightly and cheerfully, eager to start the game; and Bartolomeo shivers. One could think things could not possibly get any worse, and yet — this malicious glee, these cold, lifeless undertones in an otherwise familiar voice send the Prince’s heart racing in panic. Mortal terror floods his body, its deadly grip suffocating him, making it impossible to even think straight; there is a dull throb of pain in his chest, and he suddenly feels sorry for all the mice that the palace cats have ever toyed with. For now he himself is one of those mice, and there is no escape from this cat’s paws.

Escalus hastily attempts to drive the panic away. There’s no point in being so afraid after all. He was the one to open the door, so now he must deal with the consequences; plain and simple, nothing out of the ordinary. Get a grip, will you?

“What happens if I find you, then?”

The not-Mercutio instantly grows serious.

“Good things.”

“Good for whom?” The Prince tries not to glance into the corners of the hallway where the darkness is so thick that it almost seems alive. “For you, is that not true?”

“You ask the right questions, uncle dear.”

“For you as well. You have dreamt of seeing your beloved nephew at least once again, haven’t you, noble Escalus?”

And just like that, the Prince can no longer cope with the tremors in his whole body. For he has not yet heard this voice today, no, this voice is new, it is different, it is completely alien... and yet he still feels those puffs of air on his neck, as if the one who was speaking were standing exactly where the previous speaker had stood. There is no mirth in this voice, just the endless, imperturbable cold; and surprisingly, Escalus find is easier to breathe. Granted, the inexorable cold he feels is that of an executioner, and the strange calmness that comes over him is that of a man condemned, but even this is better than shivering in terror.

“Turn around, Bartolomeo della Scala, and I will grant you that pleasure… before the end.”

“Who is there?” The Prince would have laughed at the absurdity of his own question, but his voice still trembles. “You are not the one from before…”

“Indeed I am not,” rustles the cold voice behind him. “He is still here, hiding in the very shadows that you are so carefully trying not to look at; but right you are, the noble Prince, I am something else entirely.”

“Why these games?”

“These shadows love people’s pain,” explains the creature whose real name Bartolomeo prefers not to think about, instead stubbornly continuing to look straight ahead. The carved pattern on the opposite wall is engraved onto the very apple of his eye by now, it seems. “Oh, how they have longed for yours – and finally you’ve responded.”

“I wouldn't have,” admits the Prince with an ease that surprises even himself. “But that was the lesser of two evils.”

“You did respond, but why? You knew it could not be Mercutio,” and good heavens, those intonations… they either betray or imitate genuine interest. Escalus decides he does not want to know which option is true. He frankly does not know which one scares him more anyway.

“I did know,” he admits with a sigh. It is tempting to just keep silent, but it is also too frightening to let silence reign. “Better it be me than my–”

<strike>than my son</strike>

“Than my nephew.”

“So that's why...” The voice behind his back trails away, but the cold breath is still touching his skin; and so Escalus still stares straight ahead, fighting the urge to move, to look into the too-dark corners of the hallway...

…to turn around and finally see who he's talking to.

“What happens now?” he wonders aloud instead. It probably looks like he’s talking to those goddamn patterns on the wall, he thinks, and smiles sadly at the thought. Mercutio would’ve probably thought his old uncle had finally gone mad.

“Turn around, Bartolomeo della Scala,” the same cold voice comes to life again, rustling like dying leaves, echoing along the hallway as if the darkness itself were picking up the words and repeating them_, turn around, turn around, turn around,_ throwing them from corner to corner, playing with them like a group of excited children would play with a ball. “Turn around, there is no other way.”

“Uncle, no!” Something twists sharply, painfully, deep inside his chest, and for the love of God, he can’t, as if hypnotized, take his eyes off the blasted wall pattern. “Uncle, please! I was not allowed to interfere, I wanted to stop you, please don’t!”

“This… this is cruel,” the Prince breathes out, stumbling, barely able to will his lips and tongue into movement. “Another lie –“

_…no, no, no, no, no…_

_…it is not us, not us, not us, not us, not us..._

_…it’s him, it’s him, it’s him, it’s him, it’s him…_

_…he wants to help, to help, to help, to help…_

_…we never do, we never do, we never do…_

“Why did you open the door, uncle?” pleads the new – familiar, all-too-familiar – voice from somewhere to the side; but it is still difficult to breathe through the dull, throbbing pain in his chest, and the patterns on the wall are still holding the Prince’s gaze captive, not letting go. “You knew it was a lie, why did you?”

“Better me than your brother.” The words come much easier than before. The ache in his chest is slowly dissipating, replaced by a warm, reassuring certainty: this time, it is really Mercutio.

Escalus doesn’t know how it is possible.

Escalus, to be completely honest, doesn’t give a damn.

“Valentine would never let them in…”

Mercutio sounds unsure, and Bartolomeo sighs. My boy, if only you knew... for your name alone, he would have thrown open any door, be it thousand times locked.

“I couldn't risk it.”

<strike>I wanted to see you.</strike>

“Uncle…”

“Turn around, Bartolomeo della Scala. You have already figured out who I am. You already know this is not a lie anymore.”

“I have.” His mouth suddenly feels very dry, and his voice is hoarse. “And I do. One never walks away from you alive, they say.”

“No,” the cold voice confirms, expressionless. “But one does walk away from the world of the living with me.”

“Mercutio,” the Prince calls.

“I'm here, uncle. I'm... I'm not going anywhere, I… wanted to, I tried to warn you, to stop you, but...”

“You are powerless against death, _figlio mio_. As are we all.”

Bartolomeo smiles. Were Valentine to enter the hallway, he would immediately recognize that affectionate smile. The one both he and Mercutio had known since early childhood; the one that would soften Bartolomeo’s hard features and make his eyes glow warmly.

The one that left Bartolomeo’s face soon after Mercutio’s death to never come back.

“Uncle…”

“It’s been so long since I saw you last, Mercutio. Too long.”

“Turn around, Bartolomeo della Scala.”

_...turn around, turn around, turn around, turn around, turn around…_

“Uncle, please…”

He turns around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Russian text can be found here, titled "Girati" ("turn around" in Italian):  
\- https://archiveofourown.org/works/25071562/chapters/69036516  
\- https://ficbook.net/readfic/8604319/26243842#part_content

**Author's Note:**

> This is my translation of my own text from Russian into English. The original text can be found here: https://ficbook.net/readfic/8604319/22352828#part_content


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